


got me losing every breath (i'm latching onto you)

by kissingiscool



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Exhibitionism, Fairy Louis, Frottage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nipple Play, Past Abuse, Pining, Public Hand Jobs, abuse mention, blood trigger warning, louis is 19 and harry is 25, might be a sequel idk, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-14 19:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissingiscool/pseuds/kissingiscool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a blur to him, chasing Louis down from point A to point B, through a maze of pathways and a chorus of short giggles, chromaticity of canary and fern as dirt sticks to the soles of his running feet, and he feels alive, more alive than he's ever felt in all of the twenty-five years of his life. More alive from the time he first when skiing. More alive than from when he had his first kiss. Just <em>looking</em> at Louis gave him a new definition of <em>alive</em>. He doesn't know how long he's been chasing, but the pounding of his heart and huff and puff of each breath that's punched out of his lungs is so addicting that he doesn't ever want to stop chasing him.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>(or an au where louis is a fairy with a fear of thunderstorms and a talent of knitting and harry is a vet with three cats and a lot of love.)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	got me losing every breath (i'm latching onto you)

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted to write a fairy louis au and look!!!! i finally did it !!!! i thought i should try a different, more descriptive writing style with more synonyms to elongate my fic so here we are :D this one should be much better than my last fic sooo yeAh :o
> 
> credit to my lovebug [mackenzie](http://tummyhand.tumblr.com/) for helping out lots w/ this fic (~ ^__^ ~)
> 
> the title is from _latch_ by disclosure ft. sam smith
> 
>  
> 
> _BLOOD TRIGGER WARNING and ABUSE MENTION_
> 
>  
> 
> i hope u enjoy it ogm :S

The gentle hum of crickets and fireflies thrums in Louis' veins as his fingertips glide across the smoothness of the green leaves. Dawn is starting to break over the horizon, the sun's early brightness slipping through the tree branches as he perches on one of them, aureate skin glowing brilliantly like sun rays, glistening. He feels like he's been wandering for days and maybe he has, but he feels blanketed and protected by this forest, and his nightmares haven't chased him down in several hours. _Maybe this is a good thing, getting lost like he said_ , Louis thinks, translucent wings fluttering in wonder, golden glitter raining down on the leaves as he curls his arms around his bent knees. The warm air, heavy with impending rain and storm, encompasses him like a cloud and he's so so _sleepy._

He yawns and shifts, clicking his bare feet together and curling his toes around the rough bark of the branch, enjoying the coarse feeling beneath his feet. The string of sewn leaves that cling to his lower half as underwear do little to comfort him, and he comes up with the idea of shuffling through his dear-skin satchel for the needle and string to make himself a set of shorts, but a herd of butterflies swirl around him in a flurry and captures his attention, a few of them landing and fluttering in his feathery, chestnut hair. He giggles, albeit quietly, extending a finger and picking one of them from his hair. He stares in awe as its wings flutter gradually and mildly, blinking owlishly at its stark orange and red colors. "Hi, little guy," he whispers, smiling briefly as it flutters its wings again in reply. "You're just like me, aren't you? And just as lost," he murmurs. He adjusts and sits with his back against the tree stalk, leaning his head back and reaching up to pluck a small flower from the tree's laughter lines. He places it in his hair and searches for another, shivering as a butterfly flickers away and tickles his finger.

"You're the only friend I've got at the moment, I suppose, so it's best if you get to know me because that's what friends do, yeah?" He whispers. "'M only nineteen years of age and - and if you couldn't tell by our obvious similarities, I'm a fairy - not a butterfly, to clarify even further. Sorry to disappoint," he says with a shrug. "And I was thrown out of my home by men in orange constructions hats. They took my home away just like they did to you, little guy. Told me to get lost." Tears streak his cheeks and he wipes them away questioningly, not knowing when he started to cry. "So - so I did just that. Dunno my way back anymore. My friends left me at their mercy, but - but who needs friends like that anyway? Always made fun of me because I can't fly yet cos I'm smaller than the rest of them and my wings are a bit small, but I'm just as good as the rest of them, yeah?" The butterfly shivers its wings once. He smiles. "Yeah."

The solidity beneath his body trembles with thunder from an impending storm, startling the butterfly from its current placing. It flies into Louis' hair once more and although he's quivering with fright, he manages a grin and holds his knees closer against his chest as the sun disappears behind the dismal clouds, an army of dim fluffiness charging across the washed-out sky. Warily, he fixes his eyes on the large clouds and says with a trembling voice, "I'll - I'll keep you safe from the storm, little guy." He finds his fear of storms so foolish - he's a teenager who has lived in the woods all of his life, capable of facing all forms of danger that burdens him, so what is a bit of lightning and rain?

 _I probably look like a child_ , he ponders as he squeezes his knees closer to his chest and buries his face between his knees. _With a butterfly sat on the top of my head and my face hidden in my knees. Look like a coward._ He wants to shake himself out of this fearful stupor and tell himself to get a grip, but another powerful hum of thunder rumbles and he's squeaking and squeezing his eyes shut. Being what he is, he's meant to be one with nature and not afraid of it, but the tremor running through his fingers can't be stomped out and brushed off, like crushed dandelions.

 _Get a grip, Louis. Get a grip._ He inhales the light precipitation dampening his hair and radiating skin, flailing his hands behind him to grip the stalk of the tree and pushing himself up until he's on his feet. He feels the butterfly's wings shudder as it flies out of his hair and onto a leaf already weighed down by stray drops of rain. If it'd been a brighter morning, where the sky's cerulean color burns vividly in his eyes and the sun seems closer to the surface of the earth and illuminates like it is, he'd feel more adventurous about this and hop from tree branch to tree branch, much like a monkey does, but he doesn't like getting blisters, so he doesn't use his hands. But right now, he's scared because he's got knowledge of many things, but one of the things he wishes that he didn't know was that lightning strikes the tallest object and he's here standing on a tree - it's like an invitation to get struck.

And he's half naked. There's that too. He doesn't want to die looking like burnt coal, so he wraps his arms around the trunk and starts sliding down. It's not much longer than a minute before a splinter pierces his index finger and the slick wetness from the bark gets him to lose his grip and he's falling down with an astonished cry that is cut short when his curvy, tight body hits the moist earth and he lands in a puddle and. And he feels a bit like crying because now he's soaking wet and alone in a thunderstorm and all he wants to do is find a place to call home again.

.    .    .

Fog settles around the canoe like a misty, welcoming haze of clouds pulling him to shore. The humidity that comes with rain storms makes his hair wilder than it already is, but that's always alright with Harry. He's never been one to complain, but he supposes that he's not got the right to say that because he's actually complained about a lot of things. He complains about his job to Niall sometimes, tells him that it's frustrating and saddening to see patrons walk in with animals too far gone to be saved and that he wishes he wouldn't have been put with the task to put animals to sleep, wishes that he could take them all home with him and save them from an inevitable death (which is why he's got three cats, Ava, Benny, and Lila, and another on the way, a gray and white one he wants to name Astro). He complains, too, about being lonely, says that it doesn't matter how many people he takes home with him each week because the hollow void he feels inside his body just cannot be filled that way. He needs love, real love, and he needs to feel it; the distant memory of feeling it isn't enough to fill up his lungs like the curl of crisp smoke anymore.

The head of the canoe hits the edge of the shore with a gentle bump and he sits there for a moment, breathing in the thick, heavy fog and feeling it open his pores up. He feels most at home when he's at his cabin, even though his real home is just across the lake, big and white and empty as if to imitate a state of comatose. He breathes and hefts his rucksack over his shoulder - he's planning to stay there for one of his rare two week breaks because as much as he's alone, he's never really had time to himself. He steps out of the canoe, vaguely wonders if he should go back and bring his cats over this time (water is and always will be their number one enemy; they'll most definitely stay inside the boat), but he's already walking up the pathway leading to his cabin.

His cabin is never cold, not even in the long, bitter winters that blow by at the end of the year. He can already feel the warmth billowing out of the makeshift chimney, and he's smiling just at the thought of being there. _Being home_ , he thinks. It's still a bit of a walk there and the hazy murkiness creeps on him like a shadow on the sunset, but he isn't afraid - there are fireflies filling up most of the space in the dark, leading him home like they always have for all these years.

Mud cakes the sole of his boots and his legs are a bit achy in the knees (it's most likely due to the fact that he's been lacking on his morning runs because of the stacks upon stacks of paper he's had to out back in order in the back of the clinic after he found two of his co-workers canoodling in the back - their reaction to being caught tipped over about three baskets of information and Harry tried his best to be modest about it), so he veers off the path to find a proper sitting spot because sitting in the mud isn't exactly the most comfortable thing in the world.

He finds a lone log in a clearing in the middle of the woods, the wood is weathered and soggy, forest-green mold covering one half of it and small, lavender flowers growing between its weathered, wrinkled face. He sits on it with a soft huff, pulling out his water container for a sip and just wanting to sit in the the peace and quiet of the forest - as quiet as it can be with crickets chirping and the sound of leaves rustling above him every once and a while. The smell of rain and the outside isn't always pleasant for him because it doesn't smell as lovely when he's back inside his home, but he revels in it, kind of wants to roll in the dirt and soak in the earthy scent. He remains in place for quite some time, watching as butterflies flutter by and as fireflies flicker and flash in the near-darkness.

That's when he hears it. The giggling, ringing in his ears like the chimes do on the front porch of his cabin. Light and vibrant and soft all at once. At first, he chalks it up to his hearing playing games with him, but he hears it again, louder and closer now like the fog sliding over the lake and into the forest. The fireflies jerk and sputter as more congregate in the area in front of him and - and he sees it, as clear as the day that's hidden behind the overbearing shadow of night.

He's young and he's so so beautiful, and Harry's breath catches in his throat because his skin - his skin is _glowing_ , just as luminous and florescent as the sun itself. _He's the sun personified_ , Harry convinces himself, compelled to cover his eyes from such overwhelming brightness. _He's sunshine in human form._

His mostly-bare body, smooth and sun-kissed to the bone, moves languidly as he hums and giggles and dances with the fireflies swirling around him like a twister, jumping in what appears as delight and joy. They burn so radiantly that Harry can almost feel their warmth from where he's sitting, swaying along to the sun-kissed boy's lullabies as he twirls and twists and turns like a whirlpool, smoothly and swiftly. He's grinning like he's thinking of something lovely and the grin never leaves his face, not even as he belts out what sounds like the final note to a song Harry's never heard of. And he's got the most _beautiful_ smile Harry's ever seen in his entire life and he's been all around to world, as much as he's managed at the age of twenty-five, and he's seen many faces but this boy draws him in like a moth to a streetlight and he feels that if he gets to close, it'll shock him -

Glitter. So much glitter, he can see it in this mere darkness, flickering its canary luminescence in the distance that keeps them separated enough that the boy can't see him. The source of the glitter remains a mystery until the boy turns around and flutters his translucent wings in giddy delight, and Harry is falling forward off of the log and onto his feet, his heart pounding violently in his throat now, vibrating like it does when he stands on the sidelines of an occasional town parade and the marching band comes crashing through, banging their drums with vigor. _Drumming heart._

 _Oh my God_ are the words that catch in his throat, barricaded by the drumming heart in his throat and he can almost see the sound waves crashing against his words like ocean waves do to its seashells. He shifts forward, careful and cautious until he's in the boy's line of vision, but he's got his eyes closed in unnameable bliss, so Harry thinks he's okay. His hands still tremble as he watches his wings flutter and glow an alabaster light around the edges; he clutches a fistful of leaves to keep them from shaking, shivering as they crunch beneath the pressure of his fingertips. If his hairs are standing on end at the base of his neck, no one has to know but him.

When the boy opens his eyes and begins to giggle at the fireflies still swirling around him, Harry feels like all of his breath has been punched out of him as he stares into the sharp sapphire color of his eyes, feels the way he does when he's diving into the lake after it's been a long time since he's took a swim, the cool water sliding over his skin, smooth and refreshing. Cleansing, almost. _Makes me feel like starting over._

He doesn't notice when the sapphire eyes look right into his until he hears the astonished, crisp gasp leave the boy's O-shaped mouth, eyes as large as saucers. It happens in quick succession, him opening his mouth and the fireflies tittering around him in a frenzied fashion as the boy stumbles backwards, frightened. "Uh - ah -" He stands to his full size as the boy trips over a vine growing upwards from the ground. He falls on his bum with a cry. "Hey -!"

"Wait, I'll - I'll go, I'll go, don't hurt me, please -" the boy pleas in a high, gentle voice, frantic as he pushes himself into a tree, one hand extended like he's trying to protect himself from any future blows. "I'll leave!"

Harry falters in his step as he walks forward, and he's overcome with sadness because the last thing this boy should expect when meeting a stranger is to be hit. "I won't - _God_ , I won't _hurt_ you. You don't have to leave; you can stay. You're fine, yeah? You're alright," he attempts to reassure him, although it's clear the boy is still frightened, he quiets down considerably. "Do you need a hand? Do you mind if I know your name?" he whispers. He doesn't know why he's whispering, but it feels more appropriate than anything else, and he's afraid that if he raises his voice any higher then he might scare the boy off.

The fireflies surround them both now, and it makes Harry wonder if they'll ever leave. Louis tentatively watches the hand he's offered before taking it and pull himself up swiftly, almost as if he wants to stop touching his hand as soon as possible. Harry pulls his hand back and normally, he wouldn't pay it any mind, but something shiny and stone-colored shimmers out of the corner of his eye. Startled, he glances back down at his hand and finds it absolutely _covered_ in glitter. He blinks rapidly, like if he keeps blinking then maybe it'll go away, but it sticks to his skin like dried glue."So you're a -" He cuts himself off when he draws his eyes back up to Louis' trembling form, tanned and glowing skin bare all except for the sewn leaves blocking his view of his loins. Glitter covers the ground on the area around him, and Harry can see his fists are clutched tight, imagines that his fingernails are digging into his palm. "You're a - pixie?"

The boy clenches his jaw, moves his eyes away from Harry's in favor of looking at the ground. "Eh, act-actually, I'm a fairy, but my name is - Louis." His fingers are fiddling with each other, sword fighting with no swords as they tangle with each other.

"Does it make much of a difference?" Harry asks breathlessly, continues to stare at his glitter-covered hand.

Louis bites his lip. _He seems nervous, but what for?_ "I suppose - I suppose not."

They stand there, gazing at each other like they're foreign objects neither one of them has seen before, Louis' body illuminating the area like a streetlight. It's Harry who speaks up next, of course he does, as he wipes his glittery hand off of his palm and onto his trousers. "Do you - do you live here, in this forest? I've just never seen you, is all, so I'm just curious if you've been here for all this time and I've never known, because I would've invited you into my house and now it sort of makes me look like a terrible host -" He's rambling now, the words keep tumbling out of his mouth like the contents of his stomach do after he's had too much to drink.

"I - um, I don't know where I am, actually. I'm lost, see, because I was - I was thrown out of my old home. A man in an orange hat called me a kid and told me to get lost, so I did that, I did just that and now here I am. Ah. Where am I, if you could tell me - please?" Louis asks, his voice a mere whisper now. "Because I don't - I don't live here, to answer your question."

Harry blinks like he always does when he's not listening or paying attention, but this boy, fluorescent and flustered, has captured his full attention to the point where there's nothing he can do _but_ pay him attention. Plus, he's got a human-sized fairy standing in front of him, there's that too. His mouth is like a sponge, sucks up all of the saliva he's got sitting beneath his tongue and it goes dry. He swallows nothing. "Right, right, you're in Holmes Chapel and - so you've got nowhere to stay? Is that right?"

Louis nods, coy and slow. He still hasn't lifted his eyes up from the ground. "No, I don't - I don't know. I've been walking for days and I ended up here. Slept on a tree branch last night, actually." His head snaps up now, eyes expansive and alert as he raises his hands. "But - but I'm used to it! I sleep on trees all the time and sometimes I even sleep on the ground or if I find a nice garden, I'll sleep there and try to tuck myself under the flower beds, so really, it's fine! If you're going to say anything, that is."

Harry blinks slow and delayed like he always does when he's not paying attention, but of course he's paying attention because how can he not - he's got a glowing fairy boy standing in front of him, flushed and fiddling. It's quite hard to not pay attention to something so captivating. His mouth flutters like a fish out of water before any actual words come out. "Well, I've a cabin a while away from here and - well, what I'm saying is that you could come along with me and stay there, if you'd like."

And - and the way Louis' face lights right up, the way his wings waver and jitter excitedly as he flashes a full smile, showing off his sharp teeth like they're his most proud prizes, eyes crinkling until all he can see are his eyelashes, dark and long. Harry can feel the veins in his heart tangling and pulling taut with how endeared he is and he thinks _yes, I can take him under my wing for a while until he gets back on his feet - I can do that._ "You want to come with me then?" Harry asks, cheek dimples burning with how wide he's smiling and he just can't help it - response to stimuli, he supposes.

Louis' nodding viciously, enthralled to have a human companion at his side at last. "Yes, yes, I want to come with you!" He stops - everything stops abruptly as he takes a moment to be modest. "If you don't mind, I - I don't want to be a burden or summat."

Harry shakes his head, the wide smile he's wearing has yet to slip off of his face. "I don't mind. I don't mind at all." He pauses, lifts his head to face the moonlight falling through the dim leaves of the trees. "We should get a move on before it gets too late, yeah?" And he supposes that he moves too far too fast because Louis' reaching out for him and clutching his arm like a vice, nail-bitten fingers sinking into his skin. It makes him stop and turn abruptly, his smile trading places with a frown.

Louis' face is twisted in worry like a labyrinth - it's written all over his face as he tugs him back and hides his face with his honey dew fringe in the best way he can manage, stepping closer until his body is pressed into his side. "Stay close - please? Don't let me get lost."

Harry can feel the blood glide up into his cheeks and spread down to his neck, can feel the heat radiate off of his skin and - and it's not that he has a _problem_ with him being this close, per say, but it's hard to keep one's composure when they've got a cute boy hanging onto their arm and sticking to their body like a lifeline. He grins down at him, as best as he can without his lips quivering with nerves. "Alright, Louis. I won't let you get lost."

.    .    .

The cabin stands broad and strong in the shadowed light of the night, windows clear and dark and lightless as they approach it. He revels in the fresh smell of the wood, fingers itching to get around the marigold doorknob because all he's really wanting to do is collapse on the floor and sleep for the next few days, but he's all too aware of Louis' prominent presence, can feel it coursing through him like chilled water. The cobblestone pathway claps beneath their feet as they walk upon it - well, his feet because Louis' not got any shoes (he subconsciously thinks of sitting him down and taking a look at his foot for any cuts), and Louis' fingers release him as he pulls the rusted keys out of his pockets, unlocking the door with numbed fingers. He moves forward a few steps before he notices that Louis isn't following his steps, and he turns with a frown. "Is there something wrong?"

Louis is still standing on the pathway, gnawing on his lips, fingers shaking at the tips. "I'm just - I'm wondering if you have an upstairs section of this cabin you've got," he says, glancing at the windows on the upper floor. "Do you?"

"Yes, I - why?"

Louis bows his head, but Harry can see the fuscia color of his cheeks, spreading across the cut of his cheekbones like the finest paint brush. "I, um, I slept in trees and climb to the highest branch that would be sturdy enough to hold me so I could be closer to the moon and the sun. I'm afraid - I'm afraid of the dark," he mumbles, his voicelessness slipping through the stray clouds of fog.

Harry blinks and nods, and he doesn't know what he's nodding for, but he only hopes that he's giving his consonance. "That's - there's nothing to be ashamed of, Louis. I used to be afraid of the dark myself, but it's still quite dark upstairs, so maybe...maybe we can do something about that," he concludes with a glance around like he's going to find the answer, but he looks back at Louis, who has yet to make a move to step in his territory. "It's fine, you know - to come in. I didn't bring you here just have you stay outside - well, I mean, unless you -"

Louis' wings flutter and click as they slide back into his back, skin glowing lesser now as he takes stumbles forward, and Harry knows that he's let his fatigue get the best of him, but he can't be blamed - he's been sleeping outside in trees for lord knows how long. The floorboards creak beneath their feet as Harry locks the door and does his best to lead him to the living room without passing out on the floor. "Here, sit on the couch. Was a bit chilly out there, the least I can do is set up a fire and get you warmed up," he murmurs, striking a match and setting it to the wood in the rusted, jet black fireplace. He turns on his heel and looks at Louis, looking (and probably feeling) so very out of place, hands folded beneath the thickness and warmth of his thighs and lips worrying between his teeth. He's looking up at the window in the loft upstairs, staring in the eyes of the moon like he's looking to it to give him answers.

"Hey," Harry says, catching his attention in a startled and sudden manner. He pats the coffee table twice, settling down into a criss-cross folding of his legs. "Feet on the table, yeah?"

Louis nods jerkily and moves to place his feet on the table as quickly as he can, hands remaining under his thighs. His eyes, sleepy and twinkling like midnight stars, are a lapis color now, different from before, more washed-out and weary. His eyelids droop, candy red lips parting in a quiet sigh. _So so sleepy. But I won't sleep just yet. Not till I'm closer to the moon and the stars. Not yet._

Harry examines the bottom his feet, finding amber blisters and scarlet cuts there, but only small lacerations so it's nothing that can't be healed overnight. Louis' toes wiggle like they're embarrassed to be under the magnifying glass that are Harry's pupils, and Harry, by instinct, grips the boy's dainty ankles with calloused hands and says, "Keep still."

And - And Louis _glows_ in splinters of light, shining through every one of his pores like searchlights. Startled, Harry's eyes dart back up to the boy's face, flushed punch red as his eyes expand and flash in the firelight. He blinks tardily like he's moments away from falling asleep, but he's so obviously wide awake that it's simply not an option. Harry folds his lips into his mouth, trying to decide on what he should do or say now because he doesn't know what this means and he's not sure if it's good or bad. He stands abruptly after a few moments drag their feet across the worn, hardwood floor. "I'm - I'm going to get a wet towelette and try to clean your feet off as best as I can. I'll be right back, promise."

Louis wants so badly to explain, wants to chase after him to be sure that he won't go away and leave him forever and _hate_ him forever, but all he can do is open his mouth and release unspoken words as the man dashes to another section of the cabin. His fingers dig into the couch he's seated on, closing his eyes and willing himself to calm down until the glow burns out, but it doesn't go out completely of course because he can still the imprint of his hand around his ankle, demanding and holding him tight. _God_. He starts to glow again and before he knows it, he's got glitter all over the cushions by the time Harry returns with a navy blue towel draped over his forearm, a bewildered expression written all over his features.

"Sorry," Louis blurts out, hands flying out from under his thighs and into the canary gold glittery mess. "Sorry, I was just -"

Harry doesn't speak as he approaches him, eyes zeroing in on the glitter peeling off of the boy's tanned skin and onto his couch. He kneels down in front of him again, towel long forgotten and tossed over Louis' foot. "Are you -" His voice betrays him and cracks and lord knows he's only doing his absolute best not to make him feel alienated, but he's not doing himself any favors. He tries again, exhaling through his nostrils and circling a hand back around the boy's ankle. His toes curl beneath the towel. "Are you cold?" he whispers. "If you're cold, I could add more fire wood and turn the A/C up -"

"'M not cold," Louis whispers, helplessly and desperately. Abruptly, he folds his feet up into a criss-cross position, pointing the soles of his feet towards his feet. He looks like he's ready to do the task of wiping them off himself and Harry nearly takes it as his cue to leave until he sees him hesitate and settle back into the couch. Louis tosses the towel onto the coffee table. "I - actually, these cuts should heal in time, so I don't see the need to wipe them down -"

"Nonsense," Harry says, taking up the towel again and patting the table, gesticulating for him to put his legs out again. He does, of course. "You've stepped on dirt and all sorts of other things. Surprised your feet aren't swelling up to the size of footballs right now what with how long you've been in this forest, if I'm honest," he tells him distractedly as he clutches his ankle again. He starts to wipe it down, gently and softly at first. Then he presses down as he continues on, scrubbing determinedly. "I've actually had this cabin for going on five years now, so -"

Louis' laughter bubbles up out his mouth so suddenly that Harry doesn't even have the chance to prepare himself for the impact to his heart, his head falling back as his eyes crinkle in the loveliest way. He gasps, toes curling as he kicks his legs but is restrained by Harry's firm hand. "Stop! Stop stop stop! It - it tickles - please -!"

Harry's laughing now too, and his lips stretch and tear with how hard he's smiling as he grabs Louis' leg in a choke hold. "I have to do this - stay _still_ , for the love of _God_!"

Louis gasps and wiggles beneath his hold, slamming his free foot down on the coffee table as his hands clutch the fists full of glitter he sheds continuously. Tears are running down his blooming cheeks and his teeth glimmer in the firelight, blinding and bright and his laughter is the only thing Harry wants to hear for the rest of his life. He releases his ankle in favor for the other, but the boy is moving swiftly, crawling onto the floor and into the opposite direction, but Harry is quicker, pulling him back by his other ankle and putting his calve in a choke hold and all he knows is that whatever he's feeling, it's echoing in the hollows of his soul and it's filling him up, slipping over the rim of his heart in fluorescent, gold colors. And it glitters.

  
.    .    .

"This is the bathroom," Harry says as he flips the light switch up, three dimming light bulbs buzzing in the creaking cabin. Louis stands in front of him, eyes wandering about the dingy, powder white bathroom. The floor rugs are fuzzy, an olive green color clashing against the sun-burnt skin of his feet. "I'm, uh. I'm guessing you'll want a bath, yeah?"

Louis shrugs one shoulder as he walks forward and peeks a head through the translucent, porcelain curtains of the small window. "I suppose I do. I've taken baths in lakes and rivers and oceans before, so I don't think it'll be much different, will it?" he murmurs, eyes shimmering with the light of the moon.

"Ah, no...You seem quite concerned about the moon, Louis. I already told you that there was an upstairs -"

"'S not that," Louis says quickly, shutting the curtains and hunching his shoulder in a way that would suggest that he's doing his best to curl in on himself. "It - that isn't it. 'M just a bit worried, is all, since you said it's still dark up there."

Harry nods curtly, arms crossed as he leans against the door frame, trying to look as nonchalant as possible because he's trying his hardest not to gawk at Louis' body, his tight curves and the swell of his arse beneath the sewn leaves and and slightly beefy biceps and chest and his _stomach, God_ \- "Lemme see what I can do for you," he says, albeit weakly.

Louis perks right up at that, the high curve of his eyebrows rising even higher as he smiles with glee. Harry decides that he'd like it better if he was never sad. "Would you?"

Harry smiles back just as happily. "I would. Now, I've got you some real clothes you can wear, but they're going to -" He cuts himself off, acknowledging his own realization. "They're going to be a bit big on you because they're...my clothes," he mumbles. _Jesus._

Louis smiles, still terribly joyful as he takes the grey sweatpants and ratty t-shirt out of his waiting hands. "That's fine, that's - thank you," he breathes, looking him directly in the eye for the first time that whole night. It sucks the breath Harry was going to gasp right out of him with how sharp his eyes are, like they can see through anything and everything. But most of all, they look honest and sincere to the point where Harry finds it nearly hard to believe that's how he feels.

He nods, though, stuffing his hands in his pockets and clenching them into fists. "Of course, it's no problem." He hovers there for a while, and Louis looks at him expectantly before he speaks again. "How old are you, Louis?"

"Nineteen! My birthday is in 182 moons - that's six months in human time, if you were wondering."

"Oh," Harry says, voice wavering because he doesn't want to sound as relieved as he feels. He doesn't know what he's relieved for, but he'll figure it out. "I was just wondering."

Louis nods slowly, warily. "Are you wondering how long I plan on staying because - because I could leave as soon as possible, if that's what you'd like -"

"No! No, of course not, I was just - wondering. You can stay here for as long as you'd want to, Louis." _Stay here forever I've been so lonely -_

Louis beams, and Harry can hear his heart pop with how endeared he is. _Stay here forever._

.    .    .

By the time Louis is stepping out of the bathroom, feet padding gently against the weathered floor, the fire has been put out and there's nothing but a lamp to lead his way to the loft upstairs - except for his body, but his fatigue isn't letting him glow. He squints in the near darkness, pondering where Harry would be sleeping, and his eyes land upon the thin slit of dandelion light peeking out from beneath one of the doors by the spiral staircase. He bites his lip, hovering in front of the door because he wants to ask him if he wouldn't mind sleeping with him tonight but he's not five years old anymore now, is he? He can do this all on his own, just fine.

Soundlessly, he gaits up the stairs, and he's shaking because he's alone and he expects the loft to be as dark as Harry said it would be and he can feel the glitter peel off of his skin like dried glue -

Christmas lights. There are Christmas lights draped and wrapped around the metal headboard of the bed in the corner beneath the window, glowing a bone white color that makes Louis' eyes ache in the loveliest of ways. The quilts that Louis can tell are homemade aren't neatly tucked beneath the edges and corners of the bed - they're disheveled and and astray, like somebody's been sleeping here already, tossing and turning from nightmares that'll be lost by daybreak. The pillows, looking so soft from where he's standing, have knee indents in them, and they look a bit like the shadows of the moon. He smiles slightly at the thought of Harry struggling to plug in the lights, heart jumping because Harry's gone through all of this trouble to make him feel as comfortable as possible, and it makes him feel so warm and welcome that he has to stop his wings from popping back out.

Fatigue wraps its final limb around his ankle as he falls face first onto the softness of the bed, sighing with content as he tucks only his legs beneath the quilts, eyes falling shut to their own accord, heavy with tiredness. He almost falls asleep right that minute. Almost.

But then he remembers all of those nights, being afraid in the flimsy comfort of his trees and hearing alarming noises in the night, the crunching of leaves too close by for him to feel safe in the thick darkness of the moonless nights, alone and isolated. A mirage of terrible thoughts possess his mind; being shot, kidnapped, murdered and buried beneath the leaves just like that girl by the pond -

He sits up with a sharp gasp, eyes open wide like they're ready to catch something horrifying, but nothing but the midnight blackness bombard his sight. Startled and frightened, he tosses the blankets off of himself and stumbles down the stairs, finding himself knocking on Harry's door before thinking about it first. He hears Harry's voice, groggy with sleep, say, "Come in."

Tentatively with a trembling hand, he opens the door and pokes his head through the doorway, and Harry looks lovely and warm in the soft light of his lamp, with his hair sticking up in awkward places and his eyes a dim, moss color now, red from sudden awakeness. His lips are cracked and dry as he parts them to speak. "I had a - I had a nightmare and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind sleeping with me and you're probably thinking about how I'm such a _child_ but if you would please -"

"'Course," Harry's saying before he can even finish his sentence, slowly rising out of his bed and shutting the lamp of. And Louis can't help the whimper of his name that comes out of his mouth, can feel the darkness falling upon them like a blanket too thick and too warm, but Harry's hand is on his shoulder not a moment longer, firm and anchoring him to the very bone. He squeezes and Louis shivers. "You're okay."

And Louis nods along with him because he is okay, for now anyways, as long as he's with him. "I'm okay," he echoes and sucks in a breath as Harry grips his wrist and leads him back up to the loft.

They stand there in front of the bed, watching the moonlight rays clash with the Christmas lights bulbs, its light rays shattering against the wall like shards of glass. Harry gesticulates to the bed. "You can get in first, and I'll - spoon around you, I suppose."

But the thing is that Louis is already digging his fingernails into his palm at the thought of having human contact again - he hasn't touched someone else since he was maybe seven years old and he'd had a crush on a little sprite, reached down and touched their hand while sat with them on a log by the lake. And it's just - it's been so _long_ , all he wants Harry to do is touch him again. He wants Harry to touch him all _over_ -

He slips beneath the covers, tucking the blankets under his chin in an effort to hide his glowing body, but there's no point, really, since Harry can most definitely see it in this iniquity. He sinks his teeth in his bottom lip, trembling like he's cold when he's just excited beyond comprehension. It feels like an eternity before Harry's body weight is making the bed dip behind him, but it only takes him a few seconds and he's sitting up, moving around like he's unsure of what he should do and Louis is just - _drooling_ for his touch, he's been vying for it since the man had gripped his ankle on that coffee table.

With a sharp huff, Louis reaches behind him, clutching Harry's arm and circling it around his stomach beneath the over-sized white t-shirt with the words _"dream boat"_ printed on it. He flushes heatedly as he feels his large hand spread out against the skin of his stomach then tighten together and cup his side. Louis feels firework sparklers light against his skin, tingling and tickling as he presses the heart lines of his palms against each other because as much as he wants to layer their hands, it might make them too close for Harry's comfort, so it's the least he can do when he whispers, "Thank you."

"Not a problem," replies Harry, fingers twitching against him. They lie there, eyes drooping even though they're trying to stay awake for whatever reason. Harry's finally got his eyes closed, breathing becoming heavy and drugged, when he asks Louis a question. "How do ya like it here so far?"

Louis rubs his face against his pillow, lips parted in shallow, sleepy gasps. "I like it just fine, 'Arry. 'S perfect."

Harry unconsciously moves his hand up and over his side, fingertips tickling his skin and making goosebumps rise, making him shiver and squirm. He's so tired and he's got a pretty boy laid down beside him, eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks and fluttering like his wings and honestly, this is better than any dream he's ever had, better than any sex he's had (something he _hasn't_ had in several months now). Just the feeling of solidity of another person beside him. So he'll stop touching him when he hears Louis' groggy giggle and he'll pat his side with a, "I'm glad." and save any of his concerns for another moon.

.    .    .

When Harry awakes the following morning, it's to the sound of dishes breaking and a loud hiss echoing throughout the cabin. His brain is slow to catch up with everything, slow to realize that Louis isn't by his side anymore and that somebody is downstairs. His eyes fly open.

_Shit._

His body is still a bit numb with sleep, but his mind feels awake enough to get him downstairs and into the kitchen to find Louis standing there staring down at the broken porcelain dish, the cabinet open. It only takes him a few seconds to notice Harry, his hair in disarray and his mouth open wide.

"I -" Louis swallows up his words like it's foul-tasting medicine and the taste is still sitting unpleasantly on his tongue, throat dry as if he hasn't uttered a sound in months and he feels as though he's done something terrible and unspeakable. Glitter falls from his trembling form, but he can't take his eyes off of Harry and he feels as though his heart is going to burst right there in his chest, afraid that Harry might see it thrashing and glowing through the thin material of Harry's flannel.

Harry's eyebrows twitch and he steps forward, walking around the counter with a pace slower than a sloth's. "Louis -"

Louis is spurred into action by the older man's sudden movement and words although he hasn't done much, but he's dropping down to his knees, quivering fingers scrambling to pick up the glass as nonsense spills out of his mouth, panic poisoning his veins like a lethal injection. "I can fix it, I'm sorry, I - I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix it -"

Harry is rushing around the counter now, and everything is moving to quickly for his liking; his eyes go through a terrible tunnel vision of Louis, one that makes his temples ache. "Louis, Louis, no, don't pick that up with your -"

The shard of stained glass breaks the skin of Louis' palm and digs in, blood and glitter gushing over and coating the transparent object, and the pain pricks him like an electric shock at first, morphing into a searing, sharp affliction. He falls onto his bum as if he's been head-butted, gripping his wrist and sobbing dryly as blood begins to drip down his wrist and over his hand, warm and sticky like hot cocoa (he's suddenly lost the ability to find its appeal). And he wants to cry, wants to weep so loudly that the trees outside shake in protest, but even as his bottom lip quivers, he refuses to cry now. Not now.

Harry snags a dish towel off of the edge of the sink and wraps it around his hand, making it act as a gauze and shivering as the metallic smell of blood sneaks up his nostrils, but that's the last thing he's concerned about as he brings Louis' trembling hand up to hold it together and falls on his ass beside him. They sit there together in thick silence, tension in the air tightening up like a string on a bow. Harry wants to ask it, wants to ask _What's wrong with you?_ and Where did you come from? but he won't because he's polite and -

"I used to live - I used to live in a house with a man, and he'd hit me," Louis starts out, hiccuping from his previous tears as his eyes begin to well up with new ones. "He'd hit me all the time, Harry, it was like he'd never stop. There was this one time, though, where I was washing dishes like I did every night and I broke one and he - he beat me, and then he threw me out, right by my wings. I have a tear in one of them because of that and I thought you - I thought you would hit me like he did. I didn't mean to break it, I just wanted some food -"

Hesitantly, Harry pets his hair and lets him place his head on his shoulder as he sniffles and cries, and he wishes that he had words of solace for him, he wishes he could say something empowering, but what would be the use in that when he can't even be 'empowered' himself. So there they sit in the early morning light, bluish and soft, with Harry stroking his hair and Louis crying until he wasn't anymore, until he fell asleep against his chest. There they sit on the chilled kitchen floor, broken glass spread out in front of them like puzzle pieces, leaning on each other like they've known each other for years when it's only been a few hours. Harry sighs and closes his eyes. _Day one._

.     .     .

_Scrape. Scrape scrape._

"Louis..."

_Scrapescrapescrapescrape._

"Louis."

_Scrapescrapescrapescrapescrapescrapescrapescrape -_

"Louis - quit it!" Harry sighs exasperatedly, grabbing the boy's wrist tightly and pressing it into the couch cushions. Louis glows vibrantly, if only for a minute, but he stares down at the irritated, crimson red spot standing out on his arm like a bad tattoo. "You've got to leave it alone until I can get some lotion for it -'

"But _Harry_ ," Louis whines and starts rubbing it against his thigh, "it _itches_. And it _hurts_."

Harry huffs and tries not to cave into the boy's adorable whining. "I wanted to put some bug spray on you before you went, but you were already gone. Should've listened to me - hey! What did I just say? Stop that - here, take my hand."

Louis hesitates, stares down and the open hand and traces the heart lines with his eyes, and it takes him a moment to acknowledge that he wants to hold his hand. Louis takes it, of course, but doesn't expect the man to take the other one. He holds them both in his hand effortlessly, and Louis can hear his heart pop like a balloon.

"That'll make you stop itching," Harry murmurs. _Another day, another dollar._

.     .     .

Louis is like a leech, Harry finds.

It's storming outside and for safety measures, Harry's got the the lights out and he's lit candles throughout the house, reveling in their cinnamon-sweet scent, but the way Louis' rain-soaked skin smells is even better, with his nose pressed into his hair as he sniffs and squeezes the younger boy's shoulder. "You're _freezing_ , aren't you?" he whispers, eyes closed.

Louis latches onto him, fingernails digging into his sides and clutching up fists full of his shirt as he presses his nose into his shoulder and trembles. Thunder rumbles throughout their chests, and Louis squeaks, " _Terrified_."

Harry reaches behind him and pulls his last spare blankets over their heads like he's hiding them from the storm, hiding them from any form of danger. "'S okay," he whispers against his cheek, making him flush. "You're okay."

Louis doesn't quite believe it yet, but when he's got his arms around him like this, he can pretend that he does. "I'm okay," he whispers back. _I'm okay._

.     .     .

The soil feels like cotton beneath his toes as he digs his feet into the dirt of the shore, circling his arms around his legs as he watches Harry skip rocks, leaning back against his palms every once in a while. It's late at night, eleven o' clock at best, but Louis finds that he doesn't need much sleep when he's got Harry right there.

"I'm a vet, y'know," Harry says, tossing a rock with a bit more force than from before. "I take care of pets and give them off for adoption - stuff like that. And it sounded like fun at first - it still is, of course - with all of the dogs and cats and other weird pets I'd have experiences with. But - but then I had to start putting them down." He trails off, gazing off into the moon's horizon like he's getting lost in its light. Louis waits patiently, knowing good and well that he could listen to Harry's voice all the time and never get tired of it. "It's the worst, Louis," he whispers, eyes glazed over and unfamiliar. _Lost_. "Seeing them like that, so helpless and - and they can't even do anything about it. Can't take themselves to the doctor, can't give themselves shots, can't take care of themselves. Sometimes, I'd refuse to do it and I'd almost always lose my job for defying them like that, but it's so _hard_ seeing them like that. I have to put animals down every other day and you'd think I'd get used to it by now, but I'm not. It's even harder seeing the owners' reactions, watching them cry and putting the sheet over their heads and trying to get them to leave the room." Silence. "It's hard," he whispers, and his face is wet now.

Louis reaches over and brushes the tips of his fingers across his cheeks, wiping some of his tears away. Harry's eyes close as Louis echoes his words back to him. "You're okay." And all he can do is nod back and let the warm air of the summer night sink into his skin.

.     .     .

_"Harry..."_

_He can hear his voice in his dream that night, airy and gentle. His wings are a labyrinth of lines, hues of teal and heather as they shiver and shed glitter onto his hands. But it's dark and as much as Harry desperately wishes that he could see Louis' face, he can only see his eyes, glimmering a bright ocean blue and smiling at him like his mouth does._

_"Harry."_

_He's drawn to him and he's standing so far away, yet he can hear his voice so clearly, like he's standing right in front of him and the more he walks toward him, the farther away he's getting. "Louis - where are you going? Stop moving -!"_

_And then he's running towards a distant light, doesn't even see the blue of his eyes anymore and it's getting colder as he's getting farther. "Louis -!"_

"Harry!"

Harry's feels the breath punched out of his lungs as Louis jumps on top of him and straddles his waist, knees clenching at his sides. _What a compromising position to wake up to._ Tossing an arm over his face, he opens one eye and is startled to see Louis' face only centimeters away from his, but he's smiling so widely that he's a bit concerned about his lips splitting open. But he strives to be nonchalant, just like last night as he stared at Louis' body in the warm glow of the bathroom light. "What is it, Louis?"

Louis starts bouncing on top of him, the sudden friction making his regular morning wood twitch in interest, and Harry has to grip his hips to make him stop just in case his own hips might be game enough to go against him. Louis' excitement makes him glitter and glow so viciously that Harry's eyes are starting to ache. Louis' thighs clench again as he looks down at his hands, tangling his fingers together and twisting them. "Well - well, it stopped raining so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming outside with me today because it looks lovely out the morning after a night of rain -"

Harry vaguely wonders why he thought it would be a good idea to go to bed with only his pants on as he dazedly answers him. "Yeah, 'course I'll go with you. Now hop off." _  
_

Louis nods jerkily and lets his fringe fall over his eyes because honestly, he'll do whatever Harry wants as long as he won't leave him or make him leave. Without thinking, he slips off of the side of the bed and onto the floor, landing on his side and groaning as the harsh roughness of the floor rubs against his skin in the most unkind way.

Harry is leaning over the side of the bed just as quickly as he falls over, concerned written all over his sharp face. Louis almost wants to kiss him with how sweet he looks, all worried eyebrows and pouty lips. Louis definitely wants to kiss him. "You're alright? Sorry, I didn't mean for you to -"

Louis is gazing up at him like he's the most wonderful thing he's ever seen, like he's as vibrant and eye-catching as the sun itself, and it makes Harry falter with his words. He lies on the floor, a small hand splayed out against his tummy as his hair falls around his head like a halo of smoke. But his eyes are steady as they look into his face, into his eyes. _God, it's only been five days._  "I'm alright," he whispers, nodding slowly. He sits up shortly until his face is placed right in front of Harry's again. He flushes and stays silent, but he keeps in place until he decides to speak again. "Is there - is there some other way I could thank you for letting me stay here, Harry?" he asks, breathless like he's been running a 50k.

Harry always does his best to be modest when it comes to somebody "thanking" him, but just as much as he wants to tell him it's not a big deal at all, he wants to kiss him. Just once and he'll be sated for the rest of their days, however long Louis decides to stay. He licks his lips and says nothing, but he finds his eyes crossing as they try to follow Louis' lips when he leans in.

The gentle plushness of Louis' thin lips makes Harry feel like he's wrapping himself up in a blanket of cotton candy, soft and sweet and just a bit sticky from whatever he'd had before waking Harry up. Harry flicks the tip of his tongue out to brush against the center of his bottom lip, just for a taste. _Butterscotch_ , he decides, images of the caramel-colored tin box sat on the coffee table flitting through his mind. He'd smile as his mind conjures up another image, this one of Louis sitting on his legs and holding the sweet candy up in wonderment, but Louis has his lower lip caught between his eager teeth so it's not really possible at the moment. Especially not when Louis releases it in favor of gliding his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Harry can't help himself, he sucks on it, a hand coming up to cup Louis' jaw as he presses in more. Louis whines, pokes the tip of his tongue into the back of his, and Harry draws back, he has to before his body goes against his will and lays this boy out on this bed. The way the string of saliva still connects them makes Harry's full hard-on twitch with the knowledge that he could lean back in and do it all over again. But he won't. He turns over. "I'll meet you downstairs so you can have some proper breakfast, butterscotch boy."

He can feel Louis' smile radiate off of his back, like sun rays. _Personified sunshine._

.    .    .

Louis' bare foot raps against the floor as his leg hangs off of the side of his bar stool, toes scraping and scratching as his eyes zero in on the open window that gives him a view of the clear and brilliant day. Glitter settles around his seat in a halo, and the scent of his tea assaults his nostrils, but he's hardly interested. After a whole night of being cooped up inside, he's ready to renew his ties with nature yet again. He glances back at Harry, who's standing at the sink, taking his very sweet time washing the small amount of dishes they made, and watching the slow movement of his arms makes Louis more impatient than he's ever been in his life. He clicks his tongue, slapping a palm against the table and catching Harry's attention abruptly and quite rudely. "Harry, c'mon, let's go, I wanna go."

Harry turns back around and Louis rolls his eyes so exaggeratedly that he momentarily fears that they'll roll right out of their sockets. "I've only got a few dishes left. It won't kill you to wait for a few more minutes -"

"Then I'm leaving without you."

"Okay, that's fine. Have fun," says Harry, clipped and curt and cold.

Louis shrivels up like skin does after being in the water for too long, shoulders slumping then bulking up defiantly when he stands, and it's not like Harry can see him, but it's the moral that counts. "I'm being serious, you know. I'll go, and - and maybe I won't come back."

The _"maybe I won't come back"_ makes Harry's breath catch in his throat, but he can't let Louis know that. Whatever, he's acting like a child. He's silent as he continues to wash the dishes, slower now than before only to irritate the teen-sort-of-adult.

Louis loses his bravado the instant he sees that he's not catching Harry's attention, frowns with his shoulders slumped in frustration and disappointment (in Harry and in himself, for not managing to get what he wants). He shifts between his feet, swaying back and forth like it's tug of war, and he's trying to decide on whether he should go and not come back till later that night or if he should stop being a brat and wait for Harry to get done.

It's a good five minutes when Harry finishes with the dishes and another five when he takes the time to clean the area around the sink, spraying and wiping the counter down with a dry towel and cleaning off the stove, and he's certain that Louis' left by now, but the last thing he expects to see when he turns around is Louis still standing there at the table, eyes going from hopeless to hopeful as he looks at him. He beams. "Can we go now?"

 _He waited fifteen minutes for me to get the dishes done just so he wouldn't have to go outside alone._ Harry feels like an absolute prick for making him wait that long, for being so stubborn and disregarding Louis' phobias completely. He nods frantically like it'll right his wrong because all he wants to do is make Louis feel better now. "Yeah. Yeah, we can definitely go," he says, taking his wrist and dragging him into the den. "Come on, let's put some shoes on and -"

Louis dashes past him and through the door, bare footed and glittering and laughing and teasing _"Make me!"_ Harry rolls his eyes and sighs, attempting to stomp his feet into his shoes, but Louis is already getting too far away from his sight, he might as well forget them. "Louis," he says, stumbling out of his shoes and out of the door. "Louis, hold on -!"

It's a blur to him, chasing Louis down from point A to point B, through a maze of pathways and a chorus of short giggles, chromaticity of canary and fern as dirt sticks to the soles of his running feet, and he feels alive, more alive than he's ever felt in all of the twenty-five years of his life. More alive from the time he first when skiing. More alive than from when he had his first kiss. Just _looking_ at Louis gave him a new definition of _alive_. He doesn't know how long he's been chasing, but the pounding of his heart and huff and puff of each breath that's punched out of his lungs is so addicting that he doesn't ever want to stop chasing him.

He comes to a screeching stop when he finds Louis standing toe to toe with the lake, looking back at him with a mischievous grin on his face. Panting, he approaches him slowly, legs uneven and shaking a bit, as much as he walks and runs. Maybe it's the thrill of not being alone that has him shaking. "What're you about to do, Lou?"

Louis turns back around and peels his shirt off first. _First_. Then he pushes his briefs over his hips and - _I wanna bite it_ is the very first thing Harry thinks, seeing the full swell of Louis' bum, both meaty globes glistening in the sunlight even though he has yet to touch the water. Harry's dick has been neglected so many times in one morning, he almost comes right there, seeing a stranger's ass. He can't keep his eyes off of it, even as Louis runs onto and off of the dock, diving into the lake. Harry follows him because it makes the most sense, smiles a bit when Louis pops his head up over the surface and brushes his wet hair back. "Jump in with me, will you?"

Harry shrugs, stepping back in preparation to jump in. "Alright -"

"No, no - take your clothes off first."

Harry's hesitant, frowning. "What?"

"It won't be any fun if you don't take off your clothes." Louis sticks his bottom lip out in a winning pout, one tough to deny. "Please?"

Harry presses his lips together, only doing his best to give him a stern look before pulling his t-shirt up over his head and tossing it back behind him and at once, he shoves his briefs and sweatpants down past his hips and steps out of them. He tries to look confident as he stretches his arms out and says, "Is this what you wanted?" but the blush on his cheeks in undeniable.

Louis smiles, albeit shakily, Harry can tell that it falters, as he places the heel of his hand against his chin and blows. A cloud of stone grey glitter and dust rises out of his palm and by the time it settles down in the water, Louis is gone. _Leaving me in the dust, I see._ Harry sits on the edge on the dock, lets the tips of his toes scratch the surface of the teal water, peering down below and squinting playfully. "You're the one who wanted me out here, and now you're just gonna leave me in your fairy dust? Harsh."

Louis can't help it, he giggles from where he'd stayed hidden beneath the water, pops his head up between Harry's feet and grabs his ankle, tugging. Harry jolts and clutches for purchase of the dock, pushing himself back and being pulled forward, eyes met by Louis' impish ones, glittering like his skin in the delicate luminescence. The corner of his lips quirk up, and he can feel his dimple closing in. "You're always up to no good, aren't you?"

Louis pulls him into the water entirely, pulls and pulls and pulls until they're deep under water together. Louis looks brilliant, as always, but he looks especially brilliant when he's within his element, shimmering and vibrant and looking for adventure and excitement at every turn. And his warmth is unquestionable - Harry can feel it even under this thick blanket of nature. And does Louis ever stop smiling like that, like he's seeing the most dazzling and fascinating thing on earth, like he never wants to stop looking? Does Harry ever _want_ him to stop smiling like that? (The answer is no, and he's pretty certain that the answer will _always_ be no.)

Louis reaches out for him, circles his hand around his forearm and pulls him close until they're chest to chest and their eyelashes are fluttering against each other as Louis mouths to him _I want to kiss you again_ and Harry would be an idiot to say no and stop him. He's the one who leans in first, and their kiss is just as electric as it was in the loft, just as addicting. If it were an option, Harry would kiss him all day, would never stop kissing him. But they rise up above the surface in their desperate need for air, still attached, hand to arm and arm to waist. They steal a few fleeting kisses before Louis is swimming away from him and splashing him, like he's reprimanding him for stealing more than one of his kisses. "You're a thief," he says.

"Oh?" inquires Harry, turning around. "Well, I guess I can't kiss you anymore..."

Louis deflates immediately, a pout on his lips. "Wait - wait, I didn't mean it, I was just -"

With a quickness, Harry bombards him with an even bigger splash of water, startling Louis to the point of speechlessness and making him gasp loudly. He swims there, drenched (although it's not like he isn't already) with his hands outstretched like they're waiting for something to be put in them. Then, in the sudden want for retaliation, Louis splashes him back just as much, if not more. It's a war from that point of, the both of them trying to see how can splash more than the other, but Louis is always so spontaneous and abrupt - he swimming out of the lake and running back in the forest, stark-naked.

Harry chases after him, of course - doesn't even bother picking up their clothes as he follows the hypnotizing sound of Louis' laughter, getting dirt on his wet feet, but he doesn't care, He doesn't care about anything else, and he doesn't want to be rid of this feeling of elation and glee. _Chasing Louis is like chasing your first high_ , Harry thinks, recalling back to the time he first smoked weed with Zayn, sat on the couch in his basement, listening to Nine Inch Nails. He'd almost died, but with Louis - with Louis, it just kept getting better.

Sooner or later, they're settled down amidst a field of dandelions, an area Harry had never seen before even though he's traveled these woods several times before, but it doesn't matter because Louis collecting dandelions, placing some in his lap and placing some in Harry's, telling him, "We can make wishes. You know, dandelions are like shooting stars for the sun."

So they sit there, blowing dandelions in each other's faces and telling their wishes, knowing good and well that they won't count afterwards. Harry tells him that he wishes that he could be happy, and Louis frowns at that. "Why aren't you happy? Who made you unhappy?"

The question startles Harry for a moment because nobody's ever bothered to ask him _who_ or _what_ made him unhappy - they've always pelted him with questions like _How could you be unhappy when you have everything you could ever want?_ and _Why not?_ He blinks slowly and lowers his head, putting his chin in his hand and leaning on his knee as he murmurs, "Well, I guess - I guess _I_ made myself unhappy."

"How'd you make yourself unhappy?"

Harry shrugs, lifting a dandelion and letting the wind make a wish as it blows it away. "I didn't let myself live - I always thought that life meant succeeding and getting everything you've ever wanted, but you can't plan out your life like that. Ruins you."

Louis presses his lips together in a frown. "Well," he says, picking up a dandelion and blowing it. "Well, I wish I had a place to call home."

Harry smiles at him, though it's a gloomy one. "Don't we all, love. Don't we all."

Louis nods, trains his eyes on his dandelion and they sit in as much silence as they can manage, what with the birds tweeting and crickets clicking and butterflies collecting air beneath their wings as they fly. Louis speaks up then, perking up a bit. "Do you have any yarn in the cabin?"

Harry smirks. "I thought you were a fairy, not a cat."

Louis shrugs and spreads his fingers out across the ground as he speaks with vigor and eagerness. "Well, I'm not, but I love knitting. A kid whose backyard I used to live in used to come outside and bring yarn and stuff, and they'd teach me how to knit. One time, I knitted two sweaters for their birthday, one with orange and yellow stripes on it and another with a flower on it. It was around Christmas, like my birthday, so we competed to see which one could knit the ugliest sweater. They won, of course, because they were more experienced in knitting and I didn't know how to do that much. But - but they taught me more before they moved away. I tried staying but the next kid who moved in wasn't very nice - he threw rocks at me. I found somewhere else to stay," he recalls, a distant tone in his voice. But he grins, lifting his eyes to meet Harry's. "But do you have yarn? We could knit stuff together! I could teach you and everything - it'll be fun, I swear -!"

Harry's heart feels like an air balloon, floating up and right out of his mouth as he cups Louis' neck and leans in to press their mouths together in a gradual, gratifying kiss. He'd have Louis' lips for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he was allowed the option, if he could survive off of Louis' kisses like that. But just kissing him is enough for him. He latches his hands on his hips and pulls him forward until he's proper sat in his lap, thighs tensing and un-tensing on the side of his hips. He breaks the kiss for a moment to ask, "Is this okay?"

Louis nods frantically, flushed punch pink as he leans in, stealing Harry's breath right out of his lungs and replacing it with his own as he breathes him in and out. His index finger is stroking the shell of his ear, sending shiver running up and down his back as he tightens his arms around his waist. They tug and pull at each other like ocean waves, and it's getting darker, Harry is vaguely aware of it, but only because of how bright Louis' body is glowing. He spreads his fingers across the small of his back and pulls him closer until their hips are pressed together, and he's getting hard. He wonders if Louis can tell -

"Wait, wait," Louis murmurs, pulling back, but his eyes are still closed just in case he gets dizzy if he opens them. "What are we -"

"We don't have to do anything you don't want. If you wanna stick to kissing, then that's just fine. Whatever you want." Harry doesn't know how they got here, from being in bed and harmlessly cuddling to making out and humping in a field of dandelions, but it's not like it matters because he doesn't feel so alone anymore.

"No, just - could you just -" Louis falters with his words and shows him instead, taking Harry's hand and resting it high up on his thigh, close to his bare cock. Harry's stomach clenches, his heart halts. _We're both naked._

He presses his palm against it, admires it first and admires the gasp that emits from Louis' mouth. It's pretty, and Harry doesn't very much like uncut cocks, doesn't even like looking at his own because of it, but Louis always manages to make everything look lovely. He slides it upwards, once, and slides it downwards, once. Louis' hips stutter in his hand, his head titling against his own. "Harry, please," he gasps in his ear, and - and Harry will do whatever he wants, just as long as he gets to hear him like that all the time, but in reality, he'd do whatever Louis wants regardless.

He wraps his hand around it, loosely just to tease, and he moves it slowly to hear Louis whine some more, and even though Harry loves music more than he loves himself, hearing whatever sound Louis makes, whatever thing Louis says, is the best sound in the world to him, his favorite song.

Louis bucks up into his fist, hand clutching at his shoulder as he scrapes his teeth against his shoulder. "Please," he repeats because honestly, it's been so long since he's been touched by somebody, especially in this way. The last time anybody else touched him this way was when he was sixteen and an older boy stumbled upon him trying to get himself off on his own. He never saw that boy again.

Harry brushes his thumb over his head, trying to spread what little precome Louis has to offer him. "Trying to get you - wet, so the slide won't be as dry -"

"Don't care - touch me more, please -"

Harry obeys because he wants whatever Louis wants, so he closes his fist around him completely and starts to move his hand in earnest, moving his other hand around to tweak his nipple and rub over it, enjoying the feel of his smooth and heated skin. Louis jolts in his lap, gasping and grinding down against his bareness as his thighs tighten around his waist. Harry's hips react before his mind can, and they shift up against him, rubbing against his own hand and Louis' sack.

They move together in synchronization, their hips moving to their own accord like tides pulling back and forth against each other, and it's slow and gentle until Harry twists his nipple again, thumbing over his head at the same time. Louis loses it because he's close, embarrassing as it is, and his nipples are sensitive and Harry is really good with his hands -

Harry can sense, with how tense Louis is in his arms, that he's close, and he removes his hand from his cock, ears ringing with Louis' high whine. He lays him down on his back then, spreading his arms out and closing his hands around his wrist as he lines up their cocks, releasing a sharp huff at the feeling. Louis looks stunning beneath him like this, glowing and flushed all the way down to his chest, and the fireflies hovering around them illuminate the edges of his body, and Harry swears that he's never been so enamored by someone in his entire life. He rolls his hips slowly, testing the waters and loving the feeling of warmth spread over him as he shuts his eyes and rolls them again. Louis' legs squeeze his hips and wrap around them, unintentionally changing the angle and bringing them closer. Their moans are chorused, and Harry has the very unexpected hour to write a whole album.

They push and shove against each other, moaning and whimpering _please_ and _God_ and _yes_ and _more_. Harry leans down, sucking Louis' nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and tracing it and Louis is _gone_ , seizing up and coming in long, drawn out spurts as he stutters out whines and groans and clutches for any and all purchase Harry has available of his skin.

He pushes himself up so that he's rubbing his cock against Louis' come-covered stomach, groaning with a delirious smile when he feels his come join Louis'.

They lie there beside each other, blowing dandelions but not making wishes. There aren't anymore wishes to make, Harry finds as he watches Louis' profile, watches the smile spread over his face as he starts to spout off facts about stars and galaxies and universes. Harry almost wants to ask him if he's actually seen himself, wants to say that he's a galaxy himself, bright and burning into his eyes, making them throb, but only slightly. _Maybe he return to the sky_ , Harry ponders as he strokes the inside of his wrist. _Maybe he's a dandelion, a fallen star waiting to fly back to the sun when it gets big enough. But I don't want him to go. I never want him to go. My own dandelion star._

. . .

"Where are you going?" Louis asks the morning after, watching Harry move about, pulling on a blazer over his white t-shirt. He's sitting cross-legged on the couch, a cup of tea sat in front of him and a pile of red yarn in his lap, fingers working diligently to conjure up a hat for Harry, but he's more concerned with where he's off to.

Harry glances back at him and says, "Oh," like he'd forgotten that he was even there. Louis doesn't appreciate it one bit. "Well, me and my mates are supposed to be meeting up today at my real house across the lake, plus I'm supposed to check on my cats and see how they're doing because lord knows how long I've been over here -"

"It's only been six days -"

" _Exactly_ -"

"Take me with you, then."

Harry falters and blinks, turning his body towards him completely as his shoulders slump. "I can't do that, Lou."

The way Louis' face falls makes Harry want to take it all back, make him want to collect him in his arms and hold him close like he had the night before. Louis leaves his knitting and tea abandoned, crawling over the arm of the couch to stand in front of him as he pouts, looking more upset than ever before. "Why not? Are you ashamed of me?"

Harry shakes his head before he can even finish, waving a defensive hand in front of his face before moving said hand to cup the side of his face. "No, no - of course, it isn't that, God. I just don't want them staring at you or asking you any questions - I don't want them acting weird or anything."

"But the only one who's acting weird is you," Louis whines, pouting more. He clutches the lapels of his blazer and tugs, and it's almost like he knows _exactly_ what that does to Harry, makes him pliant and weak in the knees for him. "Please? I want to meet them - I haven't spoken to other people in weeks, besides you. Let me meet your friends. I don't want you trying to hide me," he whispers, like he doesn't want the last part to be heard, but Harry hears it loud and clear, hears it even louder when the boy's hand comes up to grab and squeeze his wrist.

Harry sighs. He nods, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Alright -"

Louis doesn't even bother trying curb his enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck and jumping up and down, pressing thousands upon thousands of chaste kisses across his face and thanking him between each one. Harry tries not to blush as fiercely as he does, tries to repress his smile, tries not to be as endeared as he's feeling. It can't be helped. But he uses a mild voice to speak to him, and he grips his hips to get him to keep still. "Okay, okay, now go put some clothes on, love. We'll be taking a row boat back, but it won't take longer than eight minutes."

Louis nods obediently, but the excitement never leaves his face - it spreads all throughout his body in tremors and shakes, even as he jogs up the stairs because he's going to see other _people_ and other _places_ other than trees. His heart rate isn't steady, but that's okay with him. He's slipping on a black, sheer shirt of Harry's, digging through his dresser for a pair of jeans when he's pelted by a thought. He frowns and keeps frowning as he walks to the banister of the loft, leaning over it. "Harry?"

Harry appears below him and peers up at him, wiping his hands off with a towel. "Yes, love?"

"Do you know what we're doing?"

Harry blinks and smiles hesitantly. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I know what we were doing? I told you what we were doing just a moment ago, didn't I?"

Louis shakes his head, huffing and closing his eyes. "No no no, I mean - what are we doing? Together, like - are we? Are we together, is what I'm asking," mumbles Louis, words jumbling together, but he knows Harry understood him. He hangs his head, though. He's preparing himself for denial because it's happened before, where he used to stay in the forest of a boy's campus and he'd sneak out at night just to spend time with him - even fucked him once. But Louis opened his mouth a bit too wide, asked a bit too many questions, and he was alone again. "Because - because you _finally_ touched me after, like, a whole week of beating around the bush and - like remember on the third day, when I went outside and it started storming and I got drenched and I was freezing and _terrified_ , but you didn't make a big deal out of it, just got me some tea and a bunch of blankets and we kept warm together? Or the day before that, when I got a mosquito bite and it was all itchy and stuff and you held my hand to make me stop scratching it? Or on day four, when we went out to the lake late at night and skipped rocks together and you told me about your job and how hard it was sometimes and - I think I've got feelings for you? And you kissed me, there's that, too -"

"Hey," Harry breathes, looking at him more pointedly, eyes brilliant with certainty and arbor. Louis can't breathe anymore. "We are. Together, I mean. We're together."

Louis' legs tremble beneath him as he _rains_ glitter, painting Harry's face canary gold as he grins and for once in his life, he thinks he's found a place to call home. It might not be a physical structure of four walls and a roof and furniture, but home is in Harry's arms. _I'm right at home._

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much for taking the time to read this and i hope u liked it!!!! i'd really like it if u gave kudos and maybe some feedback!!!
> 
> find me on tumblr at [rentboylouis](http://rentboylouis.tumblr.com/)


End file.
